thx Jack

[the mingo]

Just wanted to say thx for readin' the poem. Thankin' ya here because I didn't want to bump the thing to the top of the list again.

[stilltrucking]

I was joking, my sense of humor mordant.


It was A spooky little poem, my thoughts went all mystical
I thought about death for some reason, but you could have been writing about anything. You might have been thinking about having a "beer milkshake"
Just shows you sick I am. Don't mind me mingo.

sat outside looking a a gray spongy sky that looked all wrong, sitting there thinking it is the wrong sky, and then wondering what the hell I meant by that, and then I realized it was not home. weird huh?
but other than that no complaints about the weather

spring spirits sacred groves abound
As we all flow in the stream of joy just to see another fine day in May with a sprinkle of rain sweet rain

[the mingo]

Speaking of thinking it's the wrong sky sometimes I get thinkin' I'm walking around in reality as if it were someone's animated painting. When it happens I usually can't shake it and it can stick with me for a couple of hours or more. It's downright soggy up here Jack. Rain & rain & rain. All I can think of is someone somewhere is getting set up for one hell of a drought.

[stilltrucking]

drought here
every drop of rain is cherished

the skies get soggy but no rain
day after day of leaden gray sky it is like
walking in an ocean of humidity
but no rain

texas burning up
yesterday was sweet
all my yesterdays are sweet
I remember the good days
stored them up to last.

[the mingo]

i still carry around some shit too, Jack. Can't pretend it's not there. Everybody's appearance here may be mysterious but no one came out of a vacuum or lives in one. I've done enough self-crucifixions over the years and probably for all the wrong things as I'm likely to find out. The words "Judge not and you will not be judged" go for our own view of ourselves too. The sun is trying to come through here this morning. i hope it makes it.

[stilltrucking]

Self Crucifixion I been there done that too. Not lately, but suicide always in the shadows for me, ever since I was around eight or nine. That little poem of yours touched on that. Dead writers, how they can reach out a hand in friendship across the divide. Camus like that for me. Liberated me from that fear, but every once in a while I will get a Rx for a med that has a warning about suicidal thoughts as side effect and I wimp out and don't take it.

talking about carrying around some shit, a dead rat under the close line, baby sister asked the bear to get rid of it. I went out later and picked it up with a shovel and throwed it over the fence. I threw it high, the shovel passing over me a bunch of grit fell off it and landed on me, then I realized it was not grit it was lots of fire ants. I had looked at the rat vaguely just enough to pick it up with the shovel, but I did not really see it. take a good look. That's them dead rats and crazy mike still there. even when I think I am over with it.

Men walking around with worse shit than me. I was lucky to be crazy during the war. I beat myself up plenty over the years because I was turned down as mentally unfit for the draft. (just because I could not got sleep at night with out imagining a shot guy tucked up under my chin and my finger on the trigger.) And I think it was for the best, I was not someone who a soldier could trust to cover their back. But I had plenty of guilt feeling unpatriotic a draft dodger, took a while to work around that. A world war two vet, told me not to feel guilty, just to feel grateful I was spared from it.


"it is a gift to be simple"